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Davis
Iknew even before I started the divorce process that Chantal wouldn’t make this easy on me, and she hasn’t disappointed.
I dropped the papers off to her Monday after work and every day since then when I stroll through the house I see the envelope containing the documents sitting right where I left it in the middle of the kitchen table.
She won’t return my texts or calls, and the note I left her yesterday morning is also gathering dust on the table. If she’s trying to inflict pain, it’s working. If she’s hoping that I’ll grow too frustrated and just say the hell with it, she’s wrong. So wrong. I may have zero clue where my life goes from this point on, but I’ll be damned if I spend anymore silent, loveless years in a home with a woman who hates me.
When I should have been working this morning, I dug around online to look for an apartment. Then I researched real estate prices, and now I have this wild hair to just cut our losses completely; sell the house, split the profits 50/50, and move on for good.
On my lunch hour, I made a list of items that need repairing around the house. When the list topped more than ten to-dos, I left Grady a message to stop by and let me know which projects he’d be willing work on with me. At this point in my life, I’m not too proud to beg for help.
This half-assed decision making has mostly kept me from thinking about Merrick and the fucked up mess our conversation became last week. I’ve always struggled at explaining myself or talking about my emotions, and obviously that hasn’t improved with age or time. He left me sitting there to stew in my own juices—which was as it should have been. His offer to spend a day together is still hanging out there in the semi-warm July air, and it is more than tempting.
I wish I believed a day away from my life would fix things, but I don’t. I love the idea of playing hooky, so to speak. Spending the day together without any watchful eyes does sound tempting. Too damn tempting. The offer sure as hell sounded like a date, which clouds my head with more indecision. I can’t use the wordsdateandMerrickin the same sentence, not while I’m still figuring out shit with Chantal and struggling to not allow my sense of obligation to cloud my good judgement. I sure as hell can’t think of us as anything more than friends, at least not while I’m still questioning my attraction to him in the first place.
I will admit this….something about him is different. Different in the way he looks at me, and how I feel that look deep inside of my bones when he does. Different in the way the nerves jump around in my stomach when he smiles at me. Different in the whole-body tension that takes place when I recall how thoroughly he kissed me that day.
So yeah…I am attracted to the guy. He’s handsome and smart and easy to talk to. Anddamn….I never thought I’d be saying this…butwow…that man can kiss. Then it dawns on me that I’ve admitted to thinking another man is attractive and how I almost ache to kiss him again…and then I’m strung the fuck out not knowing what my next word is, much less what direction I should go in.
“Hey man.”
I turn from where I’m standing in front of the house, to see my brother has driven up, gotten out of his vehicle and is now directly behind me. I haven’t been that tuned out in years. I attempt to brush it off and say, “Hey. Thanks for coming by. I was just contemplating having the house painted.”Not.
“Uh-huh. So what’s up?”
I give him a brief overview of the items that need repair, and he just nods in agreement. I don’t disclose why I’m doing all this, but Grady knows me well enough to deduce that something is driving this sudden home improvement bug I’ve got up my ass. He won’t ask though. That’s not what we do. We support one another, but we don’t ever over-explain anything. He knows I need help, and that’s enough for him.
“When do you want to start on all this?”
I shrug. “Few weeks, I guess. It will have to be a little at a time, since I can’t really afford to do it all at once.”
Grady nods, looking past my shoulder and muttering, “Gotcha. Um…there’s some guy standing at your fence.”
I turn to see Merrick waiting there, a suit jacket folded over one arm, briefcase in hand. Dressed for work, he gives me a soft smile which I don’t return. It feels weird, and suddenly I feel like there are a hundred sets of eyes on me. Or maybe that’s my guilt talking, from all the overthinking about how good looking he is and how his kiss makes me melt.
“Davis. Good to see you again.” All business-like and proper as only he can be, his eyes skirt past me and he steps up to hold his hand across the fence. “Hello. I’m Merrick, Davis’s neighbor.”
The two shake hands. “Grady. The little brother.”
Merrick grins and I feel it settle uneasily in my belly, a nervous little flutter that reminds me again that I need to watch myself. “I should have seen the resemblance.” His eyes roll slowly to mine, the unspoken plea something he refuses to hide; unlike myself, fidgeting from foot to foot and praying like hell that my brother doesn’t pick up on the weird vibe between us. “Davis, may I have a word?”
I can feel my face heating and suddenly the walls feel like they’re closing in. But before I can make excuses or stumble my way out of this moment, Grady states, “I’ve gotta get home. Give me a call when you want to start the repairs. I can help with all of it.”
“Okay, thanks…will do.”
It feels like it takes hours for him to crawl into his car and drive away, and those “hours” that pass I can only look at Merrick and hate him for the undeniable pull he has on me. If I was asked, I’d admit there’s no place I’d rather be than in his arms, with his mouth on mine, and I hate myself for the admission.
Merrick attempts a meek look, but the playfulness in his eyes tells the truer story. “I’m sorry. He didn’t need to leave on my account.”
“It’s fine.”
His brow arches at my curt tone, and the smirk on his face tells me he has no problem calling me on my bullshit or making any of this easy on me. “How has your week been?”
I start to roll with the universal “fine”, but in that moment I just can’t. I’m tired of pretending and excusing my way out of uncomfortable situations. I’m just plain tired…of my life, of the chaos, and of the need to keep my distance from this man; my friend, and my something else, even if I have no idea what that is.
“The week has sucked. Chantal is avoiding me. She won’t even look at the divorce papers. And I’m trying to decide if I should just sell the house or let it crumble down around her.” Rolling my eyes, I step closer to the fence, until we’re only a few feet from one another. “How’s your week been?”
“Busy.” He glances around cautiously, then once more looks at me. “I miss seeing you.” He flinches and looks away. “Sorry. I promised myself I wouldn’t say that.”
